Authors: Lynne Gentry
Maggie.
Lisbeth thrashed against the angry swells. For every stroke of progress, she was pushed several hundred yards farther downstream. Strength draining, the last of her composure dissolved. Raw awareness tingled in every cell of her body.
I’ve lost Maggie!
She screamed as she felt her body slip deeper into the depths.
Cool liquid swamped her gaping mouth and muted her terror. She tried to close her lips, but her activated cough reflexes forbade it. Within seconds, a viselike pressure crushed her chest and threatened to snap her sternum and spinal column. She was drowning. If she was drowning, so was Maggie.
I can’t let my baby drown alone.
Desperate for air, Lisbeth fought to stop the spinning. Arms flailing, she kicked frantically. Her hands struck rock. She thrashed the sandstone, searching for rungs of a nonexistent ladder. Just as she latched onto a jutting shard a sharp slice across her palm caused her to quickly release her grip. In an instant, she was sucked deeper into the cramped darkness.
Faster and faster she twirled, a pebble tossed about in a polish
ing tumbler. Excruciating force ripped at the straps tethering the heavy weight of the pack to her back and tore her boots from her feet.
Her waterlogged lungs swelled with unexchanged gases. Her brain felt hot. She knew if her body’s demands for oxygen were not met in minutes, her chest would explode.
Maggie!
Entombed in darkness, Lisbeth gave up her fight to regain her wits. In the fog settling over her, memories of Maggie floated before her like a desert mirage. Not the terrified Maggie who hated tight spaces, but the towheaded, round-faced two-year-old toddler afraid of nothing. A child too young to fear the things parents teach them to fear. Phantom Maggie peered into a toilet, her tiny hand on the flushing lever, her white hair floating around her like a dandelion blowball.
Ariel swim, Mommy.
She tugged on the handle at the exact same moment “Nooooo,” left Lisbeth’s mouth. Ariel’s plastic fin swirled around the ceramic bowl, then disappeared from sight.
Maggie’s pleased face vanished.
Noooo! Come back, baby!
Incredible energy flushed Lisbeth’s exhausted body. As she kicked against the current and struggled to lift her arms, a sudden trajectory change whirled her around and hurled her toward a shimmering beam of light.
A few seconds later, Lisbeth broke the water’s surface, sputtering and frantic. “Maggie!” Her shredded voice echoed off the well’s towering sandstone walls. High above her, a full moon poured out a circle of light.
Her eyes quickly cast about the coal-black liquid for blond curls. “Maggie!”
Nothing.
Oh, God! Oh, God!
Sucking in small gulps of dank air, Lisbeth filled her lungs and
dove. Her outstretched arms pawed at the zero visibility. On one of her crazed sweeps, her fingers brushed tiny, cold fingers. She snatched Maggie’s hand and kicked desperately toward the surface.
“Maggie!” Her daughter’s beautiful little face had been bleached of healthy color. “Hang on, baby. I’ve got you.” Lisbeth hooked her arm under Maggie’s chin and swam to a two-foot-wide ledge jutting from the smooth cylinder of hewn stone. She hauled Maggie from the water and placed her limp body stomach-down on the slippery outcropping.
Oh, God! Help me!
How long had they been submerged? Time was everything when it came to near drownings. Four to five minutes without oxygen, and her daughter could have suffered permanent brain damage. Longer and . . . no! She couldn’t let her mind go there.
Unsure whether Maggie had sustained other injuries, Lisbeth opted to risk moving her and gently rolled Maggie onto her back. “Maggie!”
No response.
She heaved herself out of the water and perched on the slippery edge. She ripped the nose plugs from her nose. Palm to her daughter’s forehead, she tilted Maggie’s chin toward the moonlight. With Maggie’s airway open, Lisbeth lowered her ear close to the tiny blue lips. No escaping air warmed her wet cheek. She pinched Maggie’s nose and blew two rescue breaths into her child’s mouth. She lifted Maggie’s T-shirt. No chest movement. She pressed two fingers against the artery in Maggie’s neck. As the seconds ticked by, she prayed for a pulse.
Finally, a faint beat rippled beneath her touch. “There you are, baby. Stay with me.” Lisbeth delivered ten more rescue breaths with a five-second-eternity wait between each.
Maggie’s body jerked, and she suddenly began coughing.
Water spewed from her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave an irritated shake of the head.
“Thank you, God!” Lisbeth rolled Maggie on her side and patted her back. “Spit it all out, baby.”
After a few seconds of productive coughing, Maggie’s lips and cheeks began to pink. “That was scary,” she sputtered. “But I was brave.”
Lisbeth laughed, relieved Maggie’s response sounded so clearheaded. “Yes. You were very brave, kiddo.” Even though all she wanted to do was hold Maggie’s quivering body forever, she instead began checking her extremities. “Are you hurt?”
Maggie shook her head, her eyes growing wider as she took in their surroundings. “Where’s my daddy?” Maggie lifted her chin toward the light streaming in from above. “Daddy!”
“Brave and a one-track mind.” Lisbeth tugged Maggie’s T-shirt down over her belly. “You
are
your father’s daughter.”
“I want my daddy.”
“Me, too.” Lisbeth kissed Maggie’s cheek. “Let’s go get him.”
Her gaze scrambled up cement-covered walls. Ancient trowel marks gave her hope they’d arrived at the same Phoenician cistern Mama had pushed her down six years ago. Protruding stones every few feet offered a way of escape, but she doubted she could manage Maggie’s weight and a ten-foot climb. At the same time, she couldn’t stay here and do nothing.
“Help!” Lisbeth’s plea bounced around the cylindrical tunnel. “Somebody, please help us!” Her eyes sought the rim and a plan B. “Help!”
Nothing . . . but the echo of her own regret and stupidity for allowing her daughter anywhere near the Cave of the Swimmers.
If no one came for them, what would she do? They’d freeze to death down here. It would take a miracle to convince Maggie to brave that wild water ride again and try for a return to Papa.
“What if my daddy doesn’t come for us? It’s tight in here.” Maggie threw her arms around Lisbeth’s neck, knocking them both from the ledge. Lisbeth frantically treaded water to keep Maggie’s struggles from forcing them under again. “Mommy, I can’t breathe.”
“You’re breathing, baby. Hang on.” Clutching the ledge with one hand, Lisbeth wrestled Maggie back onto it. “Try to sit still for a minute.”
For the first time since their traumatic arrival, she felt the extra weight on her back and remembered the backpack. Thankfully, she’d not lost her medical supplies. Once they climbed out of here, she’d figure out a way to pump all of the dirty water from Maggie’s lungs and start her on a serious round of broad-spectrum antibiotics to ward off pneumonia and kill Lord only knew what other bacteria were swimming around in her waterlogged lungs. But between the waterlogged backpack and Maggie’s weight hanging from her neck, Lisbeth didn’t know how much longer she could tread water.
“Baby, I need you to try to stay calm while I get us out of here.”
“I can’t breathe.” Maggie thrashed her legs.
“Baby, we need to make some noise. Remember how G-Pa taught you to say help in Latin?
“Adiuva.”
“Good. When I count to three, yell
Adiuva
!”
Maggie nodded, her teeth chattering. “I’ll try.”
“One. Two. Three.
Adiuva
!”
Muted voices sounded above.
“Mommy, someone’s coming.” Maggie squeezed tighter. “It worked.”
“I think you’re right.” Lisbeth scanned the well’s rim. “Help!”
“It’s
adiuva
, Mater,” Maggie said matter-of-factly.
“Fetch some fresh water, but we must be swift about it,” a male voice ordered in Latin.
A dark object hurtled toward them and whacked Lisbeth’s arm before she could get out of the way.
“Owww!” Lisbeth’s scream echoed in the tunnel. Whatever had splashed beside her disappeared below the rippling surface.
Someone peered over the well’s rim. “Who’s down there?”
Lisbeth couldn’t make out the details of the person backlit by moonlight. “
Adiuva
,” she croaked.
The woman disappeared, but Lisbeth could hear her distant summons. “Come quickly.” Two heads appeared in the opening.
“Stand back,” a male voice ordered. He tossed a heavy log across the shaft opening and secured a rope to the beam. Without wasting another minute, he gathered the loops of twisted hemp in one hand and threw a shoeless foot over the side. Lisbeth and Maggie watched two bare, muscular legs support his easy rappel down the wall.
He stopped a few feet above them, tawny arms effortlessly supporting his weight as he held tightly to the rope. “Do you have sores?”
“Barek?” Lisbeth answered. “I’m so glad I found you.”
His dark eyes worked to adjust to the poor light. “Lisbeth?”
“I didn’t know where we’d land. If we’d be too late. Tell me we’re not too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“To save Cyprian.”
He lifted his chin and shouted to the woman peering down at them. “Clear the crowd before I bring her up.”
Lisbeth felt Maggie’s arms cinch her neck. “I have a child with me.”
Barek searched below him. When he spotted Maggie he grumbled something that sounded like
Foolish woman
.
He pulled off his sash. “Make a sling for her.”
Maggie put her cupped hands up to Lisbeth’s ear. “Mommy, why is that boy wearing a dress?”
Lisbeth fumbled with the long strip of fabric. “It’s a tunic. I’ll explain all about tunics later.” Once she had the sash knotted, she looped it around her waist, and Barek hung the sling off his shoulder.
“Load the child into the sling and hold on.” With one large hand, he latched on to Lisbeth’s bruised arm. She held on to Maggie. Barek hauled them out of the water with a single tug. In the time that she’d been gone the boy had definitely grown in size, but he still seemed pretty stunted in the maturity department.
Hand over hand he silently scaled the cistern walls, panting as he hauled their combined weight on his back. Seconds later, they burst into brilliant moonlight and were greeted by a female gasp.
“Lisbeth?” The woman who’d tossed the gourd wrapped her in a hug. “We thought you were never coming back.”
Lisbeth had spent days preparing for the mental shift that occurred in one’s equilibrium after passing through the time portal, but once again, the physical changes that come with rearranging your place in history buckled her legs. Maggie went down with her.
Lisbeth rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on the person standing over her. “Naomi?” She couldn’t believe how Cyprian’s mousy house slave had blossomed into an attractive young woman, a woman who eyed Barek like he was Liam Hemsworth or Ryan Gosling. Time had moved forward here. But at what pace? Teenagers changed so rapidly it was hard to tell if the passing years matched hers.
“What were you doing in the cistern?” Naomi asked.
“Hiding.”
“From Aspasius?”
Lisbeth realized Naomi had no idea this water source was a time portal. Ruth and Mama must not have told anyone how she’d been sent home. “Well, sort of.”
Naomi’s eyes darted to Maggie. “Who’s this?”
Precious seconds ticked by as Lisbeth debated when to explain the unexplainable. “I pray I have not returned too late. Tell me of my husband. Has he returned from exile?”
“Time stands still for no one.” Time may have moved forward in Carthage, but she recognized that Barek’s opinion of her remained stuck where they’d left off. The young man who’d hauled her from the bowels of the earth had also retrieved his old dislike of her.
She followed his line of vision to the bodies stacked nearby, and she could tell he had assumed the worst about her. That she had willingly abandoned them in their greatest time of need. That her cowardice would never be forgiven.
12
Carthage
B
AREK GAVE THEM LESS
than a minute to get their third-century legs under them. “We must not be found here.” He cut off any more of Lisbeth’s questions about Cyprian and fought his way through a cloud of buzzing flies, setting a brisk pace down one of the dark tenement alleys.
“Why is that boy wearing a dress?” Maggie’s whisper was anything but subtle.
“We’ll talk about it later.” Explaining the reason Barek wore a dress would be easy compared to answering questions about bloated corpses. More corpses than when she’d left.
Lisbeth shielded Maggie’s eyes as they skirted the bodies blocking the tenements’ entrance. “Don’t look, baby.”
Maggie parted Lisbeth’s fingers. “What are those?”
“I’ll explain everything later. For now, I need you to keep quiet and”—Lisbeth swatted insects from Maggie’s hair—“try to keep up with Daddy’s friends.”
“I lost my shoes,” Maggie huffed. “And I’m cold.”
Lisbeth fought tears, not from sadness but from the realization of how close she’d come to losing more than Maggie’s shoes. She scooped her up. “Hang on to me, and you’ll warm up.” She settled Maggie on her hip.
“Your shirt is torn.” Maggie slipped her arms around Lisbeth’s neck. “It’s okay, Mommy. My daddy will buy us new clothes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’ll love me.”
Lisbeth laughed. “From the first moment he sees you.” She smiled at the thought of Maggie wrapping Cyprian around her little finger.
“Quit dawdling.” Barek’s face was set in a grim line.
They followed Naomi and Barek through the slums, as if they were superheroes in crusader capes.
Right before they reached the market at the center of town, Barek snatched two tunics from a line stretched between the apartment buildings. “Cover yourselves.”
“He’s cranky.” Maggie gave Barek the fish eye while Lisbeth set her down and unfastened her backpack. “I think he needs a nap.”